Chapter 32
Calla
We were out there for hours. Haiyden made us do everything—snowball fights, snow angels, building bricks for an igloo, and finally, a snowman together.
The snow’s still melting on our jackets. My fingers are stiff. My face is numb. But I’m smiling.
Because I know what it was. What it meant. It wasn’t just him being ridiculous or restless. He wanted to give me something I never had as a kid.
He wanted to rewrite the memory. Scrape away the loneliness.
And somehow, he did.
I look down at him, crouched in front of me, focused like it really matters. He unzips my jacket, already working on the button of my snowpants. I laugh, the sound slipping out before I can help it. “I can take it off myself, Haiyden.”
He looks up at me, eyes warm. Serious in a way that shouldn’t make me feel this safe.
“Nope,” he says. “Let me. ”
So I do.
He takes everything off piece by piece—hat, gloves, jacket, boots, snowpants—and tosses it all into a soggy heap by the door. There’s something almost ceremonial about it, like he’s peeling away more than the snow. Like he’s undoing the weight of the day. The quiet between us. Me.
I raise an eyebrow at the growing mess.
“I’ll deal with it tomorrow,” he says, brushing it off like it’s nothing. Then he places both hands on my shoulders, turns me gently, and walks me toward the bathroom.
My chest warms, impossibly full.
Inside, the shower is on within seconds, steam already fogging the mirror. His hands go straight to me—tugging the sweatshirt and sweatpants off first, then the briefs, then lifting the long-sleeve shirt over my head.
And just like that, I’m bare again.
It hasn’t been long since he undressed me like this, but it feels different.
The last time was tense. Electric. Edging toward something neither of us had the words for yet.
This isn’t that. This is slower. Softer.
But no less intense.
Haiyden’s gaze drags over me, and I feel it everywhere. The way his eyes move. The way they darken. The way heat flares in them, consuming me. It mirrors the warmth that’s been burning low and steady in me all morning. A hum under my skin. A quiet ache that never really left.
He steps closer, taking my face in both hands, his palms warm against my chilled skin. And he kisses me—slow, deep.
I lean into it.
I lose myself in him. In his touch. In the way his mouth moves against mine like he’s trying to tell me something without saying it out loud.
I lose myself in this day. This moment.
Because none of this feels real.
This can’t be a real man.
This can’t be my real life.
His tongue traces gently against mine, drawing a small hum from deep inside me, before he pulls back—just enough to rest his forehead against mine, our breaths mingling between us in slow, warm bursts.
“I have a lot of fun with you, Calla James,” he says softly.
I smile—genuine at first, full of something whole and strange and maybe a little scared.
But then it shifts. Twists.
Because it makes me want him even more.
The smile turns coy. I tilt my head just enough to meet his gaze through my lashes, voice syrupy with fake innocence. “You could have a lot of fun with me in the shower, too,” I say, adding a small wink for good measure.
He pauses. Just for a second. But it’s enough. His eyes flash—like he’s seriously considering it. Like he’s about to drag me in with him and undo both of us all over again.
But a sudden cold shiver tears through me, cutting clean across the heat I’d been clinging to.
And he sees it.
“Nope. Get in,” he says, yanking the shower curtain to the side like it’s nothing. “I need to get you a towel and some clothes and figure out what we can eat. I think tonight’s five-star menu options are frozen pizza, mac and cheese, or some microwave popcorn and wine?”
I laugh, stepping toward him, leaning in to kiss him again. “Anything,” I whisper against his mouth.
I press in a little more, my already-sensitive nipples brush against the fabric of his shirt. The contact sends a jolt through me, and I react before I can stop it. A soft, involuntary sound escapes my throat.
He catches it. Lets out a laugh against my mouth.
He kisses me again, quick and sweet and entirely unfair, before pulling back.
“Focus, baby.”
And just like that, he turns and walks out like he didn’t just short-circuit my entire nervous system.
The door shuts behind him with a soft click, and somehow, it feels final.
I don’t move, at first.
I just stand there—bare, the steam curling around me—and catch sight of myself in the fogged-up mirror.
I reach up, swipe a streak clear—and there I am.
Flushed cheeks. Sweat-damp hair clinging to my temples. Eyes wide with something I haven’t seen in a long time.
I trace my features slowly. The lines of my face. The curve of my mouth. The color of my eyebrows. The faint freckles dusting across my nose—more now than the last time I counted.
Everything looks the same. But it feels different.
Like I’m not borrowing this body anymore .
Like I’ve returned to it.
Like it finally belongs to me again.
Like I’ve made it back—after months of floating, disappearing, grieving.
Like this is me. Really me.
Happy. Alive. Free.
A few minutes pass, and I still haven’t stepped into the shower. That’s when I hear it—yelling. It cuts through the sound of running water, distant but unmistakable.
I freeze.
For a moment, I’m not sure whether I should be concerned or scared. Whether he needs help, or if I’ve just stepped too close to something I was never meant to hear.
I want to ignore it. I try. Try to let the white noise of the water pull me back, convince myself it’s nothing.
But it keeps going.
The words are muffled, too low to make out at first. Still, something—curiosity, or maybe something heavier—draws me forward. My bare feet move automatically, barely making a sound against the tile as I step toward the bathroom door.
The shower is still running behind me, hissing like a warning.
I press my ear to the door. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop myself.
“Don’t fucking start this again,” Haiyden spits.
Silence.
“You always find a way to justify it.”
More silence.
“Just remember… I kept your secret, Dad. ”
And in his voice, I hear it. The break. The edge of something too big for one person to hold.
And I know I’ve crossed a line. I’ve listened in on a part of his life that wasn’t mine to have. That he wasn’t ready to give.
Shame floods through me. I turn away, careful not to make a sound, and tiptoe back to the shower. I pull the curtain aside as quietly as I can and step in, letting the scalding water rush over my skin.
I try to let it go. Try to wash it off.
The sledgehammer.
The crack in the glass.
The moment that broke through the warmth we’d built over the past few days.
I try to forget how happiness had just started to feel real—right before something darker took its place.